When the Saints Go Marching In
by Twinings
Summary: Who dat say they gonna beat them Saints?


_Note: written for the Free-For-All-Fic-For-All at the AskTheSquishykins tumblr._

_Prompt: Killer Croc and Killer Moth, more BFF!  
><em>

_If you visit our tumblr for no other reason, visit us for the guest appearances by Mothy and Croc. They have become everyone's favorites, including mine._

_A note about characterization: This has nothing to do with Jonathan or the girls, but can easily fit into the CATverse, as these are the versions of the characters we use in-verse. (They've both had stories in the works for a while. They're upcoming, I promise.) Our Croc mostly has to do with his original comics appearances. We don't use the post-Hush man-eating monster. Our Croc is no intellectual, but he's not even the dumb lunk he became after B:TAS. But he does have the accent from _The Batman_._

* * *

><p>Why the Joker thought it would be funny to throw him down a manhole into the water main, Drury Walker didn't know. But he wasn't going to kick up a fuss about it.<p>

At least it didn't kill him, right?

Sure, he landed in icy water that came up to his chin when he stood on tiptoe, and sure, it was moving fast enough that it wasn't possible to keep his feet planted for more than a second at a time, and sure, he wasn't exactly the strongest swimmer in the world, but…

Well, at least he wasn't in the _sewer_. That was something. Right?

He let the water sweep him along, hoping he could find a ladder to take him back to the surface. There _had _to be ladders for maintenance workers. Right?

He didn't find one, but just as he started to consider the possibility that he was going to drown down there and no one would ever notice until bits of him started coming out of the fire hydrants, his hand slipped off the slick wall into empty space.

He'd found…well, something. The ledge was above his head, but if it contained dry ground and enough space to sit down for a minute, it was the only place he wanted to be.

Too bad he was even worse at pull-ups than he was at swimming. He heaved and strained and _almost_ managed to pull himself up enough to see over the ledge. Then his hand slipped.

Before he could drop back into the water, something closed around his wrist and pulled him up. He found himself staring into a scaly green face with very, _very_ sharp teeth.

Killer Croc? He survived an encounter with the Joker, only to run into _Killer Croc_?

This was turning out to be the worst day he'd had all month, and that was saying something.

"I—" he squeaked. He could see what was going to happen. First the arm would go, ripped right off at the shoulder. Then his head. If he was lucky, maybe it would at least be quick.

"You bringin' Batman down on my head?" Croc growled. He shook his head frantically. Killer Croc's eyes narrowed. He started to swing around.

Drury squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to be smashed against the wall.

His feet touched solid ground. A second later, the withering grip on his wrist just…let go.

"Keep it down, then. The Saints are up by three."

Very cautiously, he opened one eye. Then the other.

Killer Croc had already turned his back on him to collapse into an easy chair that strained under his bulk. In front of him was a beat-up, battery powered television set showing some kind of game. There was a mattress shoved into the far corner, a pile of damp towels nearby, a couple of insulated coolers next to the TV. It was…well, not exactly cozy. But it was not what he had expected.

He flexed his hand, which was miraculously still attached to his body. Was it going to stay that way? Part of him wanted to dive back into the water and take his chances, but he couldn't seem to make his legs work.

Croc twisted around in the chair to look at him. Drury considered the feasibility of becoming a praying man.

"_Mais_, if you just gonna stand there dripping, grab yourself a towel."

Stiff-legged, he stumbled over to the pile of towels, grabbed the one on top, and started drying himself off as fast as he could.

Croc's teeth were showing. He wasn't sure if it was a smile or not.

There was water sloshing around inside his helmet. He wasn't sure if he should take it off or not. The way Croc was staring at him, it might be inviting disaster. Or it might not. That expression was hard to read.

Croc started to get up. Drury flinched.

With what almost sounded like a chuckle, Croc took a couple of beers out of one of the coolers and sat back down.

Drury pulled off his helmet, trying not to let too much water splash on the floor.

"Are you going to kill me?" He had to know. He didn't want to, but he _had_to.

Killer Croc cocked his head to the side.

"Why? You go for the 49ers?"

"No! No. Go…Saints?"

Croc tossed him one of the beers. Drury just barely managed to catch it.

"Sit down, Tee-Moth. Watch the game."

"You…know who I am?"

"The costume give it away."

"And…you don't want to beat me up?"

"Sit," Croc said sharply, pointing at the floor. Drury dropped to his knees beside the recliner. Croc glanced down at him, then turned his gaze back to the TV, which was getting surprisingly good reception for a tiny set in the middle of a water pipe. "Maybe next time you come, bring another chair."

They watched the football game together, then Croc showed him the way back to the surface. He forgot his mask, and he got mugged on the way home, but it was _not_ his worst day that month.


End file.
